


The Queen of Terok Nor

by Spiderheart



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drag, M/M, Musicals, Speziale is my tiny ancestral inner Italian Brooklynite, Starfleet Is Not Good, You can't tell me Starfleet Academy didn't straightify San Francisco, all the aliens wanna fuck the fighty human, author misses nyc, because when you get Klingons and New Yorkers in the same room, fashion - Freeform, gay culture, mention of religious clothing prejudice, my people are from where Speziale is from so, non-graphic mention of a fist-fight, semi-graphic description of injuries, there will be a fist-fight, this is my fic i do what i want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-19 19:43:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderheart/pseuds/Spiderheart
Summary: Takes place during the end of season 3/beginning of season 4 because that's where I'm at in the series.Garak prepared for the inevitable evacuation of Terok Nor by reaching out and searching for ahumanthat might help him deal with all the humans that will soon be his only customers. What he finds is something he never expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is both a way for me to express my gayness without being able to irl rn and also my way of 'fixing' the lack of queer on the show, despite Garak being queer. 
> 
> Also, I've given it a go for about three seasons and I just *shrug* hate Bashir. I think it's a great move to cast Siddig as a character as classically 'Imperialist White English Doctor Goes To The Frontier Colonies For A Challenge' as Bashir, but... I hate Bashir. Garak deserves better. Not sorry.

There was a human waiting on one of the many benches just outside the docking bay’s gates, two rolling suitcases—one large, one small—by his side, along with a backpack, which he was buckling to the smaller one. His hair was long and styled in a full, curling mane that was allowed to fall into his face, which was made-up elaborately, his lips a sparkling pink and his eyes shaded with sweeps of bright colour that matched his outfit, and long, dark curling eye-lashes. His clothes bared a lot of golden brown skin, and he wore a pair of sparkling pink shoes with strange heels that forced him to walk digigrade.

No one had seen a human like this, because no one out here had seen a human that _wasn’t_ a Federation officer, or a child of a Federation officer. It was also difficult to tell the human’s sex, which was not terribly unusual for humans, but there was usually some kind of indication, in a Starfleet uniform, of one or the other. Not so for this human. People began to stare and whisper to their companions. The human was scanning the crowd, as many arrivals did, looking for who was there to meet him.

Garak knew exactly who he was there to meet, as it was Garak, himself. The transport was late, but that was fairly normal out here, especially for civilians; as it stood, Garak had been obliged to go meet Bashir for lunch, and lure him out to the Promenade for a walk. It was as much to gauge this human by Bashir’s reaction as it was to gauge this human by his reaction to Bashir. So far, the communication with Garak had been entirely with images and patterns of Speziale’s work, as well as a lively running commentary on Garak’s own examples. It was a charmingly layered form of Terran language, the English that Speziale spoke. And he was very good at Kardasi, much better than Garak had assumed a human could be, even with the phonemes he’d never heard correctly out of a human mouth before.

Garak wondered if Speziale would approach, which would be very human of him—or if he would be able to hold back, and would think to be Cardassian. Speziale watched Garak openly, but didn’t wave, merely fixed Garak with large green eyes, made larger by whatever illusion he had painted on his face.

‘Very impressive,’ Garak commented to Bashir, ‘are all humans so fond of illusion?’

‘Illusion?’ Bashir asked.

‘The paint on his face, Doctor, do you not see the illusion? A clearer explanation of human beauty standards could not have been made with words.’

‘It’s… it’s makeup, Garak. Just decoration—oh, hello,’ Bashir said, as Speziale finally approached, his bags wheeled behind him.

‘I’ces Garak,’ Speziale said to Garak, and Garak admired the paint even more—the perfectly executed, perfectly symmetrical brow shapes, the way the lips were overlined, the way there was a subtle shimmer to the tops of the cheekbones and the nose, making clearer than ever that humans were very much attracted to large eyes. Speziale’s were an intriguing brown around the outside, green around the round pupil, flattered by the colours surrounding them.

‘Mx Speziale,’ Garak returned, with a bow of his head.

‘You know each other?’ Bashir was obviously shocked.

‘Only through subspace communications. Mx Speziale, this is my friend, Doctor Bashir. Doctor, my new assistant, Lorenzo Speziale, of Jamaica, Brooklyn, New York. Did I get that right?’

‘Perfect, doll. Perfect.’ That accent still took a little getting used to, but Garak had been hearing it for months now, on recordings—Speziale insisted on replying to any examples of Garak’s work with recordings of his comments, most of which were full of extreme examples of slang—slang that Speziale was willing to explain, but that Garak wished to have a chance to decipher, first. So far, it had been a delightful challenge. ‘Shade’ was the one word Garak had gotten completely right, Speziale told him, nuances and all.

‘You’re from New York City?’

‘Greatest city in the universe, doll,’ Speziale said, his voice loud and boisterous as he gestured—the gestures were very specific, not the simple hand-waving of other humans Garak had known. These were precise, meaningful, specifically tied to things. ‘I’d apologise for being late, but that wasn’t on me, that was on this—sorry, are you with us?’ he asked Bashir.

‘Doctor Bashir and I have lunch together, though I believe your lunch break is over, Doctor. We shall have to resume our debate on Shakespeare later.’

‘I suppose we shall,’ Bashir said, a little petulantly, before departing. Speziale watched him go with raised brows, before swivelling to turn the look on Garak.

‘Nice twink you’ve got,’ he said, one brow quirking higher, smile on that wide mouth lopsided. Garak had another clue as to what the word meant, and smiled in reply. ‘Shakespeare, really? He introduce ya to Sondheim first, or just skip straight to the ancient history?’

‘He holds the opinion that Shakespeare was the greatest human playwright.’

The shriek of laughter was immediate, and so loud it startled everyone in a ten-metre radius. Speziale touched his shoulder very lightly, with a splayed hand. ‘ _Honey_ , we gotta show you some Sondheim. Sweeney Todd, to start. You’ll like that one, it reminds me of an enigma tale, in that everybody is guilty and the _thing_ is to figure out the whole sordid tangle….’

‘Bashir can’t seem to find me any human tales with layers.’

‘Well sweetie, you don’t expect a twink to have much of a _brain_ , do you?’ Speziale said, as they went into the closed shop. ‘Anyway, Starfleet types don’t know shit about culture, why are you asking them?’

‘He was the first one to want to talk to me.’

‘Oh, _mood_ ,’ Speziale said. ‘And to think, San Francisco used to be the _centre_ of gay culture, back in the twentieth century. Now it’s so straight, even _pride_ is straight. _So_ tragic. Anyway! Show me my quarters and I’ll unpack, then we can watch Sweeney Todd tonight after work, whaddyasay? Oh,’ he added, ‘and the pigs at the gate took half my luggage and _all_ of my wigs, so if you have any strings to pull… couldja please?’ He tilted his brows up and smiled winningly.

‘Surely you remember enough about Cardassia to know the answer.’

‘Ah,’ Speziale said. ‘But you see, I will give you an orgasm in repayment. How’s that sound?’

Garak smiled slow and wide.

‘That sounds _divine_.’

‘Ah—my wigs, first,’ Speziale said, tapping his nose gently, his long artificial nails drawing the eye; Garak was delighted at the canniness of that move. He played so well! Were humans like this outside of Starfleet? Ah, but Speziale was from a special _caste_ of humans, Garak had figured out that much, at least.

‘And the tour of the shop—is this all the equipment they have out here? Well you have, as the great Tim Gunn said, made it work; but let’s see what I can do—may I?’

‘Feel free. It _is_ why I hired you.’

Ah, yes, the reason Garak had hired an assistant—he liked the bright colours Speziale used, and, despite everyone’s suspicions, Garak wasn’t neglectful of his cover. He _was_ a good tailor, but he needed more than craftsmanship now, he needed a _designer_ , someone who had _ideas_ , didn’t just hem or piece or repair. He needed life and colour—and not naïve life and colour. Speziale was a modiste, a fashion designer—and more, he was something that Garak had insisted Speziale not _tell him_ , that Speziale simply allow Garak to find out for himself. Speziale had been amused, but Garak thought he had started to understand the game, because he’d started showing little reveals that he’d been studying Cardassia as well—but that he’d been looking for some analogue to his caste, and it led Garak to more intriguing questions.

The next few hours saw Garak watching Speziale _work_ ; his ethic for speed was ridiculous, and he moved things around, played with the lighting, and put up a few of his own pieces. He bustled around customers, talking them up with his rapid-fire slang-heavy speech that the universal translator barely kept up with. Yet he brought customers in—new ones that had been on the transport with him, as well as regulars who were curious, and, yes, people were starting to come in that wouldn’t before, because there was a non-Cardassian in what Speziale termed ‘front-of-house’, and that made things _better_.

What was more, Speziale had a way with the _humans_ , and that was the main reason Garak needed him—the civilians were leaving Terok Nor in droves, and it left only Starfleet officers, an overwhelming number of which were human, this far into uncharted territory. Allegedly there were more non-humans in Starfleet than they saw, but humans were the most adaptable—and the most adventurous—species in the galaxy. There were rumours they were also the most lustful, rivalling even… but Garak had never seen it from the Starfleet officers. When they closed up shop for the day, Speziale had made as much for Garak as he saw during the heaviest of days a year ago, before the Dominion had been discovered.

Garak felt quite warmly toward his newest risk, and was more than happy to invite the human to his quarters for dinner, and interested in this ‘Sweeney Todd’….

‘Now, you have to realise, this is an opera,’ Lorenzo said, pulling out his projector. Garak was not unused to things other than a holodeck for enjoying entertainment—not everything translated to an interactive three-dimensional experience, after all.

Garak wasn’t aware of time passing, so absorbed was he in this opera. The music’s higher frequency notes were somewhat lost on him; but the voices were not too high to hear (other than the soprano, Joanna; for which he relied on the subtitles—a must for watching any alien performance). For the first time, Garak could _hear_ human singing. It wasn’t as terrible as some races thought—certainly this was a feat of rhythm and tempo more than melody, which put it in line with Cardassian music more than something as irrhythmic as Vulcan or Andorian music. And the story! It was unlike any story Bashir had ever shown him, far more nuanced and far less moralising, with some real surprises in it.

‘What did you think?’

‘Who wrote it? Sondheim, did you say?’

‘Stephen Sondheim. One of the best composers of operas, in my opinion. I’d show you Into the Woods, but we have to talk about the myths that’s based on, first.’ He grinned. ‘Did you like it?’

‘Much better than any human story I’ve encountered so far! The interwoven narrative was almost Cardassian.’

Speziale made a high noise Garak only heard slightly—but he bounced, and his expression was a whole-body movement, easy to read. He was so unbridled, it was refreshing to see a human use body language. ‘I’m so glad you liked it! I thought you might say that, but I wasn’t _sure_. It’s gonna be so fun introducing you to all the stories I found that remind me of the Cardassian books you gave me!’

‘I suppose we shall have to make this dinner a regular occurrence,’ Garak said.

‘I _knew_ we were gonna be best bitches,’ Speziale said, his smile warmer as he bumped shoulders with Garak affectionately. ‘See ya tomorrow morning.’


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning saw an entirely new palette of the illusory paint on Speziale’s face, and he spent the morning working with his usual élan, taking sips of coffee between customers, even singing a little. Garak left him at lunch, the first test being what happened when he left Speziale alone in the shop.

He came back to music, the shop closed as Speziale worked, a stylus in his hand as he drew on his padd. The music was heavy on the bass, pleasantly so, and the words were harsh Terran, again with the word Speziale liked to use the most often: bitch.

_You got the wrong bitch, bitch!_

Speziale didn’t look up from his oversized sketch padd, and Garak didn’t bother him; the music wasn’t bothering him, there was no need to stop it. The shop was all different colours now, dark with bright lights highlighting the various mannequins, which had mysteriously changed to dynamic and dramatic poses. Garak took it in, as much a study in what _civilian_ humans were used to; but, too, what they taught people, what New York City was like, what Speziale was showing him about his inner life.

The music lowered, and Speziale didn’t look up from his padd, but was clearly addressing Garak.

‘So, how was lunch with ya twink?’ he asked.

‘Doctor Bashir said Sweeney Todd was not an opera, but a musical—and if I am not very much mistaken, there was a _hint_ of disdain.’

That shriek of a laugh again; Garak was starting to find it rather endearing, in that it spoke of growing up in the noisy hive that New York City apparently was. ‘People who think Shakespeare is _it_ are going to think musicals are trash. Joke’s on them, because Shakespeare was trash in his time and context. Ayyy!’ he said to a Klingon group entering the shop. They looked furious, but Klingons usually did. ‘How the fuck are ya?’

It momentarily caught them off-guard, the harsh and very Klingon welcome; still, their leader shoved at Speziale—which was the wrong thing to do. He was bleeding in an instant, four slashes on his face bleeding.

‘GETcha hands off me! You wanna _go?’_ Speziale’s voice was no longer welcoming, just harsh; New York had aggression in droves, and Speziale’s small size only, he assured Garak, compacted all his anger. ‘We can _go,_ step outside!’

‘We are not here to quarrel with you—’

‘Yeah?’ Speziale’s voice was powerful, ‘well where I’m from, _nobody_ lays on hands without startin somethin’, so you better step outside. _Bitch.’_

The word was thrown like it was the worst insult, like it was a word that incited physical violence. It was such a _flexible_ word.

Garak was able to make himself scarce while Speziale flared and displayed and _yelled_. He just hoped Speziale wouldn’t get himself killed before he found Odo.

-

‘And _that’s_ what you get!’ Speziale shouted, his heels and his nails covered in Klingon blood, more than one of them sporting _bites_ as well as scratches, bruises, and being thrown onto the ground a few times. They had learned that not only was Speziale trained in combat, he was trained to fight multiple assailants, and all of them bigger than he was. He also sported weapons _on his feet and hands_ , weapons they’d never seen before. It was impressive, even sexy.

The security officers sported a few injuries after making the same mistake Drex did, trying to grab Speziale and physically pull him and one of the Klingon’s apart. The first officer to try it got an elbow to the rib and a scream of. ‘GETcha hands off me, _pig!’_ And the fight went on, Speziale an actual force of nature, until Garak ventured close.

‘It might be a good idea to stop, Mx Speziale, before the constable feels the need to phaser you.’

Speziale paused, at that, and caught his breath, the other Klingons that Odo had managed to recruit to take hold of the _Klingon_ side of things looking fascinated as they held back Drex and his cronies. A _human_ that wanted to fight, that _could_ fight, was so rare that it had taken precious seconds to even _countenance_ it, for most of the non-humans witnessing Speziale. A human in rage was far more dangerous than even Garak had thought possible. Speziale was covered in blood, and only some of it was his. Yet his face was still perfect, and not a single nail was broken. He panted for a few seconds.

‘Get a hold of yourself, man!’ Sisko had, of course, been called down to deal with this, as it was _his_ species, and Kira was a little stunned. ‘You’re a representative of your people, here!’

‘I’m representin’ _New York City!_ ’ Speziale snarled at him. ‘I’m representin’ _queers!_ ’ He pointed at Drex. ‘He _laid a hand_ on me, _nobody_ touches me without my permission. _Ever_.’

Sisko listened, because he always did. New York was not a happy town; it wasn’t a place many non-humans went, because Starfleet tried to gently nudge them away from it. Even in the 24th century, there were still places on Terra that did _not_ do peace and safety very well. It was a hard town, a rough town, and yet was also still the centre of fashion and live performance for most of the North American continent. Broadway was still Broadway, and Manhattan was still Manhattan. Too, Speziale had not exactly broken Klingon law, or Terran law; self-defence was perfectly lawful.

‘Self-defence is understandable; a full-on _brawl_ is not.’

Speziale huffed a breath through his impressive nose. ‘Ladies do _not_ start brawls,’ he said, straightening his clothes and dusting himself off. ‘But they _will_ finish them.’ He offered his wrists to Sisko. ‘So slap the bracelets on me, pig, but I ain’t _sorry_. Throwin’ me in solitary ain’t gonna make me _sorry_. So do your worst, I was defendin’ myself and my _people_.’

Which did not, Garak noted, include Sisko. Was it authority that was ‘pig’, or was it Starfleet? It seemed more specific than simply Starfleet officers, though.

‘I am not a member of a police force, I am the captain of this station,’ Sisko said, with the calm anger of a father.

‘Oh, well, _forgive_ the wrong term, Suit.’ Speziale said, clearly not impressed. ‘Ya gonna press charges or not? I ain’t got all day, hurry it up, c’man.’

‘Try to remember that there are security officers, next time.’

A shriek of a ‘Ha!’ the smile fell off so fast you could hear it hit the ground. ‘Stonewall,’ he said, like it was a weapon to twist. Sisko actually flinched. Speziale’s hands were on his hips, and his eyes narrowed. ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought.’ He turned, and looked at Drex. ‘I hope that scars,’ he threw it like a weapon. ‘I hope you look at it and remember not to fuck with me and _my_ fuckin’ clan.’

‘Humans do not have clans!’ Drex said, more in shock than anger.

‘Ha, shows what _you_ know,’ Speziale said airily, tossing his hair and getting out a mirror to check his face. Bashir took the opportunity to try and get to him.

‘Mx Speziale.’

‘Beat it, twink.’

‘I am the medical officer, I’m trying to help,’ Bashir went on, following him.

‘I don’t want your help,’ Speziale said. ‘I want to get back to work, thanks. It’s nothin’ serious.’ He started back for the shop, and Garak knew Bashir wasn’t that easily put off.

‘I just want to make sure.’

‘I said _no_ ,’ Speziale’s voice was firm. ‘Sorry about this, I’ces,’ he said the last to Garak, still heading for the shop. ‘I’ll make up the time, and I can fix the mannequin.’

‘It’s a mannequin,’ Garak said, surprised despite himself, ‘you’re rather less replaceable, and I need you in one piece so, please, let Doctor Bashir have a look at you.’

Speziale huffed a sigh, but reluctantly turned to Bashir. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But you don’t _touch_ me without my permission, you don’t _fix_ anything without my permission, and Garak stays _with_ me.’

The show of trust was startling, the sort of thing that hit hard not because it was, by itself, very touching—but because it showed by its presence how much and how long there had been a lack. Garak said nothing, betrayed nothing, not even in the dilation of his pupils. ‘As you wish,’ he said, remembering a story that Speziale had recommended to him—a comedy, Speziale had said, and a parody—that is, a socially-celebrated mockery—of the human fantasy quest tale. It was a useful code, a way of stating to Speziale that he wished it known how much that trust meant to him.

The Klingons would be impressed by this show of force from a civilian, even in these strange times of unrest and the brink of war. The subject of his clan remaining a mystery was yet another clue—unless it was, of course, a lie; but even if it was, it provided information. Speziale, however, never lied when he dropped clues—it was the one condition on which he played the game. Figuring out the nuance of another culture was hard enough, but dropping misleading information seemed to upset him by the very concept (which, in itself, was a clue).

Garak reflected on that a little more, as they all silently walked to the Infirmary. It was a short walk, and Speziale was loudly silent.

‘I think we got off on the wrong foot,’ Bashir tried, smiling.

‘We didn’t,’ Speziale said shortly, cutting off anything else as he stood near the table. ‘Do ya scans, c’man, ain’t got all day, I’m on the clock.’ He unfolded his arms, and Bashir sighed, acquiescing. It wasn’t any worse, he told himself, than the way most Starfleet officers fussed and fumed about it.

 _Except it is_ , said a little voice, _because this is someone Garak likes, this is someone whose **taste in literature** Garak likes. _

He was, perhaps childishly, petulant about that. Maybe even a little jealous.

‘I think it might be wise to close up early for the day,’ Garak was saying.

‘The show must go on,’ Speziale said. ‘I’m fine, it’s fine. The bullies only win if we cower.’

‘You have a broken rib,’ Bashir said.

‘Whateva, not the first time. Pass.’

‘But I can heal it.’

‘ _Pass_ ,’ Speziale said, firmly. ‘Ah-ah, none’a that dermal printer stuff,’ he said, putting his hand between the device and his face. ‘Pass.’

‘What _will_ you agree to?’

‘Didn’t say I would. What else I got?’

‘Contusions and abrasions.’

‘Bruises and scrapes,’ Speziale said. ‘A’right, I don’t need a doctor. I need ice and I need to start treating these bloodstains before they set. You know how hard blood is to get out of glitter? Ugh. Well, I let him do a diagnostic, that enough for ya, I’ces?’

‘Quite satisfactory.’ Garak wasn’t about to press him to accept treatment. He knew all about the signs of mistrust of doctors. And there was nothing serious about a few bruises or a cracked rib, in Garak’s opinion. ‘I’m still closing up early—there’s plenty to do without serving customers, I have _lots_ to catch up on, thanks to you. And it will give you time to continue getting to know my stock.’

‘Fair,’ Speziale said, and finally smiled again.

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Garak said, with his usual level of polite warmth for his friend.

‘I feel like I hardly did anything.’

‘Ay,’ Speziale said, a little more serious. ‘You _respected_ me when I said no—even if it took a few. Do better next time—no means no.’

Bashir felt oddly better, for that sliver of approval. ‘You’re right. I was just worried—’

‘Ah—quit while you’re ahead, twink!’ Speziale called over his shoulder, laughter in the tones and the gesture.

‘I’m sure the blood will come out,’ Garak said, as they walked back to the shop. ‘I’ve become rather an expert, over the years—and yes, Cardassians also have iron-based blood.’

They got back to the shop, and Speziale replicated ice compresses—and analgesics—as they settled in the back, and Garak understood now—he hadn’t wanted to show weakness.

‘I didn’t know there was civil unrest on Terra,’ Garak said, and Speziale gave a particular tone of smile that Garak knew well.

‘There’s always civil unrest on Terra, sweetie. They just keep it outta the transmissions.’ He sat down, the ice compress on his ribs—gently. ‘Nobody likes to acknowledge anythin’ is wrong, on Earth. But issa big place, America ain’t even that old yet, an’ we ain’t exactly unlearned imperialism all the way. Fuckin—ah, these replicators make egg-creams?’

Garak tried it, but the computer indicated it had no idea what egg-cream meant. ‘We may need to go to Quark’s.’

‘Nah, I’ll just teach ya how.’ Speziale got up carefully, went over to the replicator. ‘Cow’s milk, whole, cold. Seltzer, cold. Chocolate syrup, cold. Some ice for beverages, and a cup.’

The three ingredients gotten, Garak helped him take them to the table, where he proceeded to mix a lot of syrup into a little milk, and pour it over the ice, then pour the seltzer in, stirring gently. ‘And that,’ he said, ‘is an egg-cream.’

‘There was no egg in it.’

‘No, there isn’t,’ Speziale said, and drank it. ‘You don’t like sweets, or I’d offer,’ he said, when he was done. ‘Gimmie like… ten minutes, and I can get workin’ on the new designs.’

‘You act as though rest is penalised.’

‘Well time is money.’

‘What a curiously Ferengi saying,’ Garak commented. ‘It almost sounds like one of the Rules of Acquisition.’

‘Never met any Ferengi,’ Speziale said, curious. ‘Bet they’d like New York.’

‘The way you say it, everyone would like New York City.’

‘Nah, not everyone. Ya gotta be tough enough. Klingons would. Cardassians might. Maybe Ferengi.’

‘That’s a curious thing—you said you hadn’t met any non-humans before me. How did you know that fighting the Klingons would impress them?’

‘It did?’

Garak had to sit down, at that. Genuine surprise! He’d simply _done that_. That was his _natural_ response. Garak was starting to see why humans were one of the few people that could _get along_ with Klingons.

‘You okay there, I’ces?’

‘I… think you’re the most _human_ human I’ve ever met, and… I have no idea what to think about humans. Are they all so defiant and incautious?’

‘Nah, depends on the culture of human. We got a lotta them. That Captain is Southern, which is why he was tellin’ me off. Southerners put a lotta stock in playin’ nice and lookin’ nice an’ that. Starfleet too, but that’s a different kinda lookin’ nice. Gotta _represent your species_ , gotta _be the best version of yourself_. Bullshit, all of it. Humans are inclined to be just as obnoxious, evil, and corrupt as anybody else, and anybody that tells you different is sellin ya somethin’.’

‘In Starfleet’s case, the idea that we must all try and be a little more like them, a little more homogenous, a little less…’

‘Like your own culture, yeah. You ever seen a Starfleet officer with their hair covered, or wearing a small hat just here?’ he put a hand up over the back top part of his head.

‘I can’t say as I have.’

‘Exactly. Starfleet ain’t exactly respectful of _human_ cultural differences. We’re all human, and that means none of us have any… what’d my friend say they’d told her about the tixul…’ he trailed off, thinking. ‘Oh, right!’ he said, snapping his fingers. ‘ “inappropriately prejudiced practises”. For coverin her hair for religious reasons! Was she hurtin’ anybody, I ask you? It’s _her choice_ she puts on that scarf every morning!’ He made a noise of disgust. ‘Tchah, Starfleet,’ he said, with a sharp and violent gesture, that Garak could well understand—almost every language with gestures had rude ones.

‘Are you saying that _humans_ have _multiple cultures_?’ Garak was surprised, though it started to make a lot of humans make sense.

‘Oh yeah, why, that not how it is with Cardassians? Thanks,’ he said, taking Garak’s offered glass of water.

‘No,’ Garak said, allowing at least that to be a direct truth—because it was so universal. Well, so he’d thought! ‘I had no idea humans were so _complex_. How _ever_ do you get anything done?’ He joined Speziale at the little table in the back of the shop that had been put in by Starfleet, for ‘breaks’. He hadn’t known what that really meant until understanding how often humans ate.

‘We’re real good at workin together on somethin’ if we gotta common goal, see,’ Speziale went on. ‘Teamwork is part of how humans evolved, yanno. We’re pack-huntin’, super-healin’ endurance predators.’

‘Predators, really? You _behave_ more like prey.’

‘I didn’t say we were _apex_ predators, just predators,’ Speziale said, laughing. ‘The parta Terra we evolved on’s gotta lotta apex predators. Crocodiles, lions, hyenas, snakes… and alla them will pick off a human if that human ain’t with a group or on alert. We can take ‘em if we’re prepared or inna group.’ He leaned back in the chair, still holding the ice to his ribs. His neck was blossoming a magnificently colourful bruise. Garak had never actually seen a human sporting injuries for more than a few moments before. It made Garak realise he hadn’t thanked Speziale for the interference—the Klingons had been there for him, their leader the same youth that had called him a lapdog.

‘I don’t believe I thanked you for what you did, today,’ Garak said.

‘Yer family, don’t mention it,’ Speziale said, with a knowing grin. Garak felt a thrill of delight, realising he’d missed something in their interactions that would provide a sort of key to the cipher. What had it been? Speziale laughed.

‘I’ve never _seen_ it before,’ he said in explanation.

‘Seen what, my dear Speziale?’

‘The thing, you know. The…’ he widened his eyes. ‘Oh _jinkies_ , moment, you know. I knew you musta _had_ ‘em, but it’s _way_ more satisfying seeing it in person. I work real hard at only leavin’ ya breadcrumbs. Never know how much I need to leave, whether any of it’s getting through—now it’s gonna be easier to play our little game.’

‘I don’t think “jinkies” is translating.’

‘It’s an allusion. There was this show—anyway, you say “jinkies” when you notice a clue.’

‘I’m guessing humans widen their eyes as a usual response to realisations?’

‘Yep. Eyes are the window to the soul, we say.’ He removed the ice pack, and got up, seeming to decide all was well. Did humans heal as fast as Klingons? Garak took the pack from the table, and realised ‘ice’ had not been a euphemism—his hand nearly went numb, holding it, and he put it down.

‘Ectothermic?’ Speziale asked raising a brow as he took the ice pack over to the recycle bin and dropped it in.

‘Slightly,’ Garak allowed. ‘Cardassians do not regulate their own temperature as steadily as humans seem to.’

‘Ooh,’ Speziale lilted, getting very close, not quite touching, but only a breath away from Garak’s face. ‘That mean ya like post-coital cuddling?’

‘I suppose you’ll have to try it,’ Garak said with a wide smile.

‘After you get me the rest of my luggage,’ Speziale said, and Garak was starting to see why eyes were so fascinating, as he saw the laugh hiding in that green and brown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Garak encounters a new word, it's spelled the way he would spell it (and the Kardasi I use is from cardassianlanguage on tumblr). So, if he heard the word 'tichel', he'd spell it, mentally, tixul, because x is the same sound as the Hebrew ch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Way of the Warrior, Pt 2

With one thing and another, the station was almost at the brink of full war by the end of the week. The civilians had evacuated, as had most of the shop owners. Kira came to Garak’s shop personally, not looking forward to the conversation with the human there, but knowing she had to try and get him to safety.

‘Hiya! What can I do ya for, Major?’

‘I’m sure you have noticed the station being on yellow alert. Captain Sisko has asked that some of the civilians evacuate to Bajor temporarily.’ Kira had rehearsed that in her head, on the way here.

He listened, didn’t interrupt, but his silence was loud. Everything about him was loud, from the colours he was wearing to the way he decorated his face. He wore the same metal piercing his ears as Kira, but Kira knew that humans did it for beauty and decoration, not for religious reasons. And his were large green hoops in his earlobes, and a copper-gold bar piercing the upper part of one ear twice. There were large pieces of glitter around his eyes, and he’d done something to make it look like there were scales framing his eyes. It was disturbing, to Kira, who didn’t like scaly things.

‘Well, that’s very _considerate_ and all; but I’m gonna hafta decline. Thanks anyway.’

Kira had been told to try and convince him; but after seeing how he handled himself, all she heard herself say was, ‘Do you know how to handle a phaser?’

‘I’m from Brooklyn, I can take care of myself.’

‘All right, then,’ Kira said, and left him to it. Secretly, she was interested in anybody that was that… fighty, no matter how Odo grumbled that Speziale was dangerously volatile.

-

It had been a very _tense_ week; there had been almost no business; and while that had let Speziale catch up on things like the currency exchange, the equipment they had available, and let them take the time to move things around in the back to give the human his own work space, it couldn’t distract from the fact that the Klingons would practically bite as soon as Garak emerged from the sanctuary of fabric printers and mannequins. The only highlight had been Captain Sisko’s call for Garak to come measure him for a new suit, which had, at least, signalled that the crew were aware of Garak’s unique and advantageous position when it came to matters diplomatic.

Well, the only highlight other than Speziale, who started acting like Garak’s personal guard-human, walking with him here and there; and his aura was enough to make the Klingons think twice. Garak was grateful for the silent message that Speziale valued him, liked him, thought he was worth protecting. He was the only person on the station who consistently, sometimes loudly, signalled that Garak was important to him. And they’d just met—in person, anyway! But humans bonded so _quickly_ , even outside their own species!

Speziale had not asked again about his missing luggage, and only hoped it wouldn’t get destroyed in the confusion and chaos. When he’d moved out here, he’d expected tension, even skirmishes; but there was word on the Promenade (the Bolian smoothie seller next door had made friends with Speziale immediately, and had all the best gossip, as nobody really noticed her tiny shop, which was more of a kiosk, really) that the Klingons had basically declared war on everybody (again), including Cardassia, which they were _invading_.

‘I see you’ve been gossiping with Mainyry again,’ Garak said as Speziale came back from his lunch break, smoothie cup in hand. Garak noted he held it protectively, with his wrist curled and the cup resting almost in the hollow of his shoulder. He was protective of his possessions in a lot of small ways, and it was clear that the city had a petty theft issue that the citizens had just accepted. Most larger cities were like that, but Garak had never seen a _human_ with the signs.

‘Well, I don’t expect _you_ to spill the tea,’ Speziale said, looking at what Garak was working on, and going over to his own worktable. He did a little more hand-work than Garak did, but he was also fast with it. ‘I have some ideas for the suit, if you haven’t started it yet.’ It looked like Garak hadn’t, which was odd….

‘I would welcome your ideas,’ Garak said, not letting on that the fitting had been anything but that. The fact that he couldn’t get the luggage was bothering him a bit—or perhaps it was the fact that his usual routine of friendly lunches with Bashir and dinner with Speziale had been disrupted. He wondered if he could negotiate an orgasm from Speziale _without_ the luggage….

‘You want I should tell a story?’ Speziale asked, after a few minutes had passed of companionable silence.

Garak considered it; even with the tension, Speziale had been telling Garak ancient tales from Terra, much like Bashir’s summary of the Boy Who Cried Wolf—except Speziale did not _explain_ the stories, he _told_ them, complete with the poetic repetitions and cyclic nature intact. Garak had requested he tell of the Boy Who Cried Wolf, and Speziale had obliged him with the tale, saying it was so ancient that some of the first human civilisations were the ones to put it into words—and they were from the same sea that Speziale’s ancestors were from, which gave him great pride.

The tale was much the same, but for the added poetry Speziale gave it in the telling. It had none of the layers that Garak liked, but then again, it was _very_ old, and even Cardassian myth got simple the farther back you went.

Today, Garak wanted to learn another myth that would allow him to fully appreciate Into The Woods. ‘Which tales are we missing, for Into The Woods?’

‘The Cinder Girl, Little Red Riding Hood, and Rapun—’

The klaxon had Speziale hitting the deck immediately, which sealed Garak’s decision to not leave him behind. He got his disruptor, knowing there would be Detapa members on Terok Nor by now, if the red alert had been sounded. ‘Come on!’ Garak said, over the noise, and Speziale got up, a phaser-type weapon already in one hand, and a startlingly large knife in the other. Garak didn’t question it, and Speziale followed him, showing he was a quick shot, and had good aim. They made their way toward the sealed room, finding Dukat guarding the doors, along with two of the station’s human guards.

‘That’s close enough, Garak.’

Speziale watched them exchange insults, watched _carefully_ for body language (widened eyes, pupils flashing like birds’ did, and were those neck ridges widening just a little, like a cobra hood?), made note of tone, and the way Garak handled himself—and the _drama_ was _delicious_. He kept an eye on the Starfleet security as the two Cardassians traded insults, Garak making sure to telegraph exactly what this other Cardassian was to him, and what things were about. Speziale appreciated that.

‘Who would have thought that the two of us would be fighting side by side?’ said the strange Cardassian, who had a longer neck than Garak, and was clearly a muscle-boy type, and why did Cardassians have such _tasty_ voices? The boy was a whole snack, Speziale thought; but a different flavour than Garak.

‘I see you’ve brought a pet with you.’

‘Yeah, and I’m a real bitch, _bitch_ ,’ Speziale said snarling, but pressed himself low and against a wall, eyes on the corridor ahead. ‘Nice trap for a dragon den,’ he said, grinning up at Garak. The Starfleet officers audibly winced, but Garak knew what a dragon was, by now, and knew it wasn’t an insult—Dragons were powerful.

There was nothing for a while, just the sounds of ships battling outside, the klaxon almost becoming a comforting rhythm.

‘Glad you’re on our side this time,’ said one of the humans.

‘Don’t try it, honey,’ Speziale drawled. ‘I’ll claw out yer eyes.’

‘Humans don’t have claws,’ Dukat scoffed.

‘Oh, I assure you, Mx Speziale has _claws_ , Dukat,’ Garak said, rather wicked glee in his tones, as Speziale flashed his nails with a flourishing, slow, _sexy_ movement of his hand.

‘You know what I wish we had? My music,’ Speziale said to Garak idly, after a few more minutes. ‘I need a _beat_ to fight. It’s like dancing.’

‘Well, I’m glad I happened to grab this—you so rarely leave it anywhere, I thought it was important,’ Garak said, offering the mobile mini-padd.

‘Oh, _hell_ yes, bitch.’ He looked through the padd, still looking up at the entrance to the corridor, still alert, and then he found a song. The speakers on his device were unusually good, and they all heard one of the driving beats that defined Speziale’s music.

_Dance the house down, the house down—sic em!_

Just as the first Klingons rounded the corner. Speziale launched himself at them, silent and quick as a striking mammal could be.

_Is you a good witch, or just a bad bitch?_

‘I _like_ this music!’ Dukat yelled, over the chaos, seeing how the human fought, not like Dukat was used to seeing from Starfleet humans; but with ruthless efficiency that was almost Cardassian, combined with what Dukat was realising was a very human recklessness—or perhaps it _wasn’t_ reckless, seeing the injuries the human went into battle with, didn’t flinch at receiving. He fought with his enhanced nails, with the spiked boots on his feet—he pulled hair, he grabbed faces, he impaled feet with those heels, and he did in fact claw out some eyes.

Dukat was breathless from more than exertion by the time the last of the Klingons was on the floor; and the music still throbbed from the little padd strapped to the human’s thigh.

_The freaks came to live it up and the church said emen! Emen emen emen!_

Speziale turned with bright eyes to Garak and _surged_ up to him, kissing him fiercely, nails buried in his crest. Garak kissed back, and Dukat felt his crest raise in jealousy. The kiss parted, and Speziale was breathing heavily for a different reason, now.

‘Sorry,’ he said, looking down and smiling, giving a huff of a laugh.

‘You said not until I pulled some strings,’ Garak teased.

‘I sweah ta gawd if ya don’t slam me against a wall right now—’ he snarled, accent thickening.

‘Perhaps we should relegate that to euphemism, just now.’

‘Who said it wasn’t?’ Speziale said, grinning, and Garak actually laughed. Dukat had never seen him truly laugh, as though at a joke. He always simply smiled that damned smug smile of his.

The klaxons were silenced, leaving them all space to breathe.

‘Well,’ Dukat said to Garak snidely. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting thanks for your help.’

‘Yeah, whateva,’ Speziale said. ‘Ya want I should tell you a story over a drink, I’ces?’

And that was the last Dukat saw of the human for a while.

-

Speziale was glad he’d packed a little sparkly dress in his carry-ons; though he wished he had his falsies to fill it out. His hair was good enough without a wig, but he wanted to set his beauty to _stun_ , and he knew this little pink dress wasn’t going to do that. He had his own theories about Cardassian beauty, and hadn’t missed how Garak had been wearing blue in his chufa, and anyway he didn’t want to reveal the drag just yet—he wanted to wait until he knew Garak would _get it_.

So, what to wear? Well, he had lace-up leggings that shone like black oil, that made his ass and his cock look delicious, and… did he have anything blue? He found a sequined strapless top that he’d made for Mermaid Parade a few years ago. It was iridescent, but one of the colours was blue. He wished, suddenly, that he’d thought to bring the shorts that went with it; but he’d only brought basics, not wanting to commit to a full move before knowing if he wanted to stay.

He looked at himself in the mirror, with the mermaid-esque scales he’d put on his face, and wondered what to do with his hair. Did Garak like his humanity, or did he like when Speziale was more Cardassian? Garak had commented on the scales, did that mean he liked them? Well, they’d taken forever, Speziale wasn’t about to remove them. He made some of the scales into rhinestones, keeping an eye on the clock and applying them careful-quick, like he did backstage. He added more lashes, took off his lipstick and changed the colour to a dark sea-blue that shimmered teal in low lights. He left his hair loose, defining the curls. He added bangles, some rings, and left his earrings as studs. Studs were better for necking.

Now, when he looked in the mirror, he saw a _queen_ , and he nodded, smiling. He knew when the way he looked made him smile, he was ready. He put on his favourite spray-on glitter as a finishing touch, got his bag, put on his black shoes, and left for Quark’s, holding his head high, knowing he was strange, here, that no one knew, here, that he was the only queen, here. But he didn’t hear slurs, he didn’t hear insults, he didn’t hear threats. He only heard whispers about how strange a human he was, and Mainyry eyed him as she walked past, slowing down.

‘You look like _art._ ’

Speziale laughed, and heard his full queen voice lilt out, and every word fortified his pride, his strength, his smile wide enough to light a stadium. ‘ _Dahling_ ,’ came the Mid-Atlantic drawl. ‘I _am_ art _.’_

He felt the confidence that came with heels and the strut that went with them as he entered the bar, satisfied by the way some eyes went to him, trying to feel as though if he held up a cigarette, five handsome men would offer to light it. He tried to imagine that he was the most beautiful thing in the room, in the station, and he almost believed it.

When he saw Garak, and the way those blue eyes dilated to at the sight of him, he did believe it.

Garak was a little speechless _._ The blue on Speziale’s lips was mesmerising, drawing the eye and making Garak remember what that kiss felt like; and the top he wore was glittering in the light of the bar with every breath, baring neck and shoulders obscenely, and the exotic _smoothness_ of that mammalian skin was tantalising.

‘Hi,’ Speziale’s voice was low velvet, and his exagerrated lashes made every direction of his eyes obvious, and he was clearly using that, looking Garak up and down and smiling, coming close and smoothing his hands over Garak’s neck-ridges, leaning in for a kiss that Garak didn’t resist, and it was soft and _warm_ and Garak wondered where Speziale had learned the ridges were sensitive. Garak’s tail was probably lashing; but he didn’t care, couldn’t care; he was undone—and then it was over, and Speziale was all wicked flirtation in that smile full of secrets, and Garak was breathless.

‘Mm, I like that,’ Speziale purred, ‘get me a drink?’

‘What would you like?’

A smirk. ‘We call it a Pink Whore back home—a shot of gin, some lemon juice, a touch of grenadine.’

‘Quite a name,’ Garak said, trying not to lean toward that warm body as it moved away from him.

‘I’ll get us a table,’ Speziale said, still in that velvet and smoke voice, the brash accent turned down to something else. The vowels were still from New York, but he was no longer dropping Gs or mashing words together. The Universal Translator wasn’t panting to keep up anymore; but Garak still watched that mouth all the same. As he walked away, Speziale’s hips swayed like he had a tail, and Garak wondered if that was a way humans teased one another, swaying hips side to side as they walked, changing their gait. It was clear the heeled shoes were something of attraction—it was so easy to learn human tastes by watching Speziale, and Garak delighted in all the clues. Starfleet, not humanity, Garak realised, was sexless, and Garak was starting to realise how bored he _didn’t have to be,_ with humans.

‘What kind of human is _that_?’ Quark asked Garak, when he went to the bar to retrieve the drinks.

‘A human who seems to hate Starfleet as much as the rest of us.’

‘You realise you’ve got his lip-paint on your face.’

‘Mm,’ Garak took the napkin and wiped it away, and Quark leaned on the bar.

‘You _like_ him? Dumping your other human?’

‘I never _had_ another human,’ Garak said, taking the drinks and going over to the table where Speziale was sitting, legs crossed.

‘Thank you, darling,’ Speziale said as he took the drink. Garak sat across from him, and noted he was sitting sideways, the leg-cross clearly to show off the legs. Given what he’d said, about humans being pursuit-predators, legs must be a body part similar to a Cardassian’s neck and shoulders. But there was something more complex at play here, between Speziale and the rest of the humans in the bar. Dax was the only one openly eyeing his legs; but Speziale ignored her, proud and expectant of worship as a chantelle.

It was _sexy_ , especially when his eyes were only for Garak, watching him over the rim of his glass, again drawing attention to them.

‘My name is Lorenzo,’ he said, softly. ‘Since we’re on a date, you should call me by my first name.’

Ah, yes, “dating”. Garak was aware asking a human out for a drink was a gesture of sexual intent; he’d thought the whole Starfleet explanation of human courtship rituals spoke of a very boring species when it came to sex. Starfleet had, however, neglected to mention certain details.

‘Lorenzo,’ Garak tried it; the lilt in pronunciation was the same as his family name, and very much the same as Kardasi emphasis. ‘Are you aware of your status on Cardassia, after today?’

‘Mmm, no,’ Lorenzo said, sipping his drink. ‘Tell me.’

‘You protected the Detapa Council—the current ruling body of Cardassia.’

Lorenzo leaned back slowly, drink still balanced in his hands, bracelets clinking as he moved. ‘And who told them what I did?’

‘Gul Dukat—the Cardassian we met in the corridor.’

‘ _Biitch!_ You didn’t tell me he was a _Gul_ , bitch!’ He laughed, putting his drink down, voice and face telegraphing delighted scandal. ‘ _What_. Oh my gawd.’ He splayed a hand on his chest. ‘Ooh, you got my heart going fast, honey. So,’ he said, leaning over the table. ‘Spill.’

‘Ah, so “tea” does refer to the drink?’

‘Mmm, it does and it doesn’t,’ Lorenzo said, pressing his lips together and looking through his lashes, which he did whenever Garak was sorely trying his ability to keep it all a secret. ‘So, that boy you were eviscerating was a _Gul? Bitch_ , and you got away with it! How much does he want to fuck you?’

They both laughed. ‘I’m afraid it’s been years of unresolved tension. Dukat is a pleasure to rile up.’

‘Oh, you _are_ a bitch,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I love that about you, Garak.’

And the way he pronounced Garak’s name! Garak had never heard it properly—and it went both ways, because Kardasi apparently made one pronounce Speziale’s—Lorenzo’s—names with the same rightness. ‘And I find your aggression rather endearing, Lorenzo,’ he said.

‘Did you strain something?’

‘Hm?’

‘Telling the truth.’ Lorenzo’s eyes glittered with a laugh. Garak smiled.

‘It may not be.’

A leg nudged his under the table. ‘Lying,’ Lorenzo said, raising his brows.

‘I’m curious—tell me, what exactly made me family, when I wasn’t before?’

Lorenzo canted his head, and glanced at the room aside, then back at Garak. He got up. ‘Watch,’ he said, and walked with that strut over to a table where a few male Starfleet officers were. The way he moved, he was obviously flirting; but he was rejected, politely. He came back to Garak, sitting down and finishing his drink.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘pop quiz: why did they reject me? I’m attractive, I’m dressed up, they’re not paired off, and—watch.’

A woman had come over, and her flirtation was similar to Lorenzo’s; but she was accepted. Something occurred to Garak, then, and he could have bit himself for how _stupid_ he’d been not to realise it: Starfleet had lied about how humans thought about one another in terms of suitability. The official literature said humans didn’t care about things like the sex of one’s partner; but Lorenzo had just demonstrated _that wasn’t true_. Now that he’d realised that, Garak put a lot of things together—things about how Lorenzo talked, about how aggressive he was, about how mistrustful he was.

‘Queer means you like your own sex,’ Garak said. ‘That’s the caste, isn’t it? That’s the “family” you refer to. And queer humans are persecuted.’ It wasn’t a question—it had been clear almost instantly that Lorenzo had been from a persecuted group. Garak hadn’t realised it was _that_ one.

‘That’s _also_ why you haven’t seen anyone like me,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Starfleet are all good little boys and girls, adhering to the gender presentation binary, to the heteronormativity, the _image_.’ He framed his face with his fingers. ‘No room for strange creatures like myself, who play with gender and have messy sexualities. Always has been, always will be,’ he said, getting up and smirking. ‘But watch how they watch me, honey.’

He walked more aggressively, with a casual aggression that spoke of how he could use those heels to stab, those nails to claw. He leaned over on the bar to order his drink, flirting with Quark, tracing his lobes with teasing tips of his nails, seeming to have an instinct for where erogenous zones were on other races—or possibly he was touchy like that with humans, too, Garak hadn’t seen him eye any humans the way he eyed Garak, and he’d not touched the humans he’d flirted with as demonstration, perhaps holding back.

Speziale came back with a bottle of kanar and two glasses, sitting down and pouring them both one. Garak had finished his first by then, but didn’t expect Lorenzo to like it.

‘Humans don’t usually like kanar.’

‘Humans can drink just about anything, darling; and _this_ human wants to try to engage a bit more with Cardassian culture. What’s kanar made of?’

‘Milk, and the glutinous syrup of a particular grain.’

‘Delish; you supposed to knock it back or sip it slow?’

‘Depends; are you a soldier or not?’

Lorenzo laughed at the joke, and raised his glass to Garak, who did the same.

‘To the queens of Terok Nor,’ Lorenzo said, and took a careful first sip, swallowing and looking thoughtful. ‘Oh _fuck_ , that’s good.’

‘A decent vintage,’ Garak said thoughtfully, after his own sip, not missing the similarity Lorenzo was drawing; he had only seen one other Cardassian, and information that Starfleet allowed to the public was unsure—how much did he really know about Cardassia? But Garak had given him enough to let him know what was proper—the rest, Garak was sure, the human could surmise from even a short time working together.

Garak had never been proper.

‘Why don’t we take this bottle of kanar back to my… place?’ he used the word Lorenzo had used before, as an offer of meeting halfway, since Lorenzo had consistently been thoughtful, been trying, been _pleased_ that Garak was Cardassian, had been _pleased_ to learn about Garak’s culture. When was the last time that had happened? Never, in Garak’s memory. Nobody ever wanted to know about Cardassia, unless it was to find out how best to hurt her.

‘Love to, doll,’ Lorenzo said, and downed the rest of the kanar in his glass without a thought to how rare that was for anyone but a Cardassian, setting the glass down and getting up, still showy, still drawing stares. He was such a _drake_ , Garak was so aroused, he was surprised that Quark hadn’t kicked him out yet.

Lorenzo didn’t hate Cardassia; if Garak wasn’t mistaken, Lorenzo wanted to _fuck_ Cardassia—or, at least, the representative of Cardassia he’d met—which was endearing. Who knows, perhaps he wanted to fuck Dukat—though, doubtless, Lorenzo would have some interesting ideas about how to go about it.

‘Now, we gotta drop the Game in order to have sex safely,’ Lorenzo said, with uncharacteristic seriousness, as they walked along the darkened Promenade together.

‘I am willing to agree on that subject,’ Garak said with a small nod. Sex between two new species was fraught with peril; as much as Cardassian culture balked at naked and direct communication, Garak also had enough scruples that the idea of rape via miscommunication was distasteful. However, he was unwilling to speak frankly in a public place, and so instead nudged it in another direction. ‘What did you think of Gul Dukat?’

Lorenzo gasped in a particular way he did when thinking of people he found physically attractive. ‘Oh, bitch, I wanna _bite_ that neck and ride him until he screams “I papi”!’

Garak smiled in amusement. Lorenzo’s tone, his growl, made clear that he was no swooning lover, that he intended to take control of this hypothetical encounter—something that Dukat would, of course, _hate_. Yet Dukat was clearly interested in doing the same to Lorenzo. Garak was sure that, even though humans seemed confused about what sex Lorenzo was, he was undoubtedly a male to a Cardassian eye—and a very scandalously masculine one, at that. Tempting, seductive, especially given his mammalian warmth; Dukat liked other species, it was an open secret he had a bit of a kink for mammals. Not that Garak was going to judge, of course.

Garak shut the door without turning his back on his guest—an old habit, muscle-memory by now. Lorenzo was watching him, vibrating with intent, pupils huge—in humans, that meant much the same thing as it did in Cardassians, though humans couldn’t flash their pupils, and their pupils moved slowly, subtly, in comparison to Cardassians’.

‘ _Fuck_ , I wanna press you up against that door and _bite_ your neck,’ Lorenzo said, his voice raw and halfway to a hiss. Garak spread his hands in invitation, and found himself almost thrown against the door, that mouth on his neck and _biting_ , hard. Garak’s eyes closed and his hissed involuntarily at the pleasure, the signal his body took to mean sex was happening, and it was happening _now_.

‘Good?’ came the question, the first of many, Garak knew.

‘More,’ Garak urged, and hissed again at the second bite. ‘Harder.’ Mostly to see if harder was even possible—he had no idea of the bite strength of a human, only that they had the generalised teeth of an omnivore. But Lorenzo had broken through Klingon skin at least a little, that meant either his teeth were sharper than the average human, or he bit _hard_.

As it turned out, it was the latter. Garak let him explore, the low rasp building faster than it ever had with someone else—mostly because Lorenzo was so _warm_ and so _intense_. He happened to find the chula and pressed a hot tongue to it, and Garak collapsed, Lorenzo pulling back as Garak slid to the floor.

‘Was that good?’ he asked, offering a hand.

‘ _Very_ good,’ Garak said. ‘I would almost think you’d had a Cardassian lover before.’ He took Lorenzo’s hand, and pulled up on it, Lorenzo proving his strength over again, the muscles in his arm shifting beneath the soft layer of fat.

‘So the little teardrop scales—scales? Scutes?—are erogenous zones?’

‘Well-spotted,’ Garak teased, and Lorenzo chuckled. ‘I’m afraid I know little about a human’s.’

‘Depends on the human,’ Lorenzo said, shrugging those smooth shoulders. ‘How about we play a different game?’ he asked, seized by a sudden idea. Asking constantly for consent for every little thing was a good way to kill the mood, in Lorenzo’s view. He didn’t fancy awkward, and he and Garak had been doing good without it, so far. ‘Instead of asking permission, we try things, stop each other if that’s a no. I think by now we both know we can take each other in a fight,’ he added, with a grin.

‘Agreed.’ Garak stroked over that smooth neck, that shoulder, and Lorenzo hummed, but didn’t collapse. He indulged himself, even so, tasting the skin, leaving kisses, and, on a whim, venturing up to stroke the outer edge of those rounded ears.

‘Sensitive,’ Lornezo murmured, voice thrumming but docile. ‘You can bite, but don’t break skin.’ He liked hickeys, but it occurred to him that Garak probably couldn’t suck, being that he had scales and probably wasn’t a mammal. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen Garak use a straw, or anything, and came up blank. ‘Can you suck?’

‘No.’

‘Then just bite.’

‘Humans bite and then suck?’

‘That’s a very good sensation.’

‘ _Is_ it?’

Lorenzo knew lustful curiosity when he heard it, and grinned at Garak. ‘Should I try it somewhere sensitive?’

‘I think that would require the removal of more clothes, and I find myself…’ Garak eyed the top again, the way the lower lights made it sparkle. ‘Hesitant to remove something so beautiful, just yet.’

Lorenzo smirked. ‘I’m not,’ and he found the fastenings of Garak’s tunic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speziale is pronounced spez-ee-YAH-lay, and you shorten that second syllable almost to the point of erasing it.
> 
>  **Chantelle** is the Kardasi term for a female, and a **Drake** is a male. Chantelle is actually the name for a female partridge, and a drake is, of course, the word for a male dragon. Birds and dragons are my main animal inspo for Cardassians. I'm aware that snakes were the inspiration for the show's writers, but my interpretation is mainly dragons with a side of blue bower birds.
> 
> Teraht - tay-RAHT. Played by Diana Rigg, she's definitely cut from the same cloth as Olenna Tyrell. 
> 
> Siloc - see-LOHK. Played by Peter Dinklage. 
> 
> Disar - dee-SAHR (roll the r)
> 
> Pa'Dar - pah-DAHR. Pa'Dar is canon, and we meet him in the episode from season two called 'Cardassians'.
> 
> Medark - May-DARK. Sleek and low-voiced, Medark is actually from the rarer species of Cardassian from the lowlands. Her inspiration is monitor lizards.
> 
> Kardasi I've been using:
> 
> i'ces - ee-SHAYS. Equivalent to 'mx' in our language. Gender-neutral honorific. I'm subtly trying to say that Garak identifies as non-binary. 
> 
> i'duxt - ee-DUHCHT (the hebrew 'ch'). 'sir' or 'mr'. 
> 
> i'ruxt - ee-RUHCHT (againt the ch as in channukah or bach). 'ma'am' or 'mrs' or 'miss'
> 
> chufa - chuh-FAH. The forehead spoon.
> 
> mUra’tassi - moo-rah-TAH-see. _Very_ rude, the word combines the name of a mythical concubus with part of the word for dildo. It's like calling him a sex doll but also a slut at the same time. 
> 
> jilassi - zhee-LAH-see. it's not as poisonous as tobacco, but culturally it is in the same role. She had to switch to a vape pen to comply with non-smoking policies. 
> 
> Again, most Kardasi is from tinsnip and vyc's cardassianlanguage on tumblr. The exceptions are mUra and jilassi, which were made up by my gf and myself.
> 
> My Cardassians have tails, and the 'hair' on their heads is actually a crest much like a cockatoo's. Eye-flashing is something Terran birds do, and it means voluntarily contracting and dilating their pupils when they are highly interested in something. Humans can't really do this, our pupils contract and dilate involuntarily; but we _do_ widen our eyes when we talk about a _human_ 'flashing' their eyes.

Kira came by again, and was momentarily confused by the human with blue hair currently styling a mannequin, until she recognised the shoes.

‘Mx Speziale?’

‘That’s me,’ he said, smiling. Today he was… all in blue, there was blue around his eyes, and his nails were much longer, the sharp tips blue-stained. His lips were even blue. Kira didn’t like blue, mostly because Cardassians liked blue.

‘Captain Sisko sent me to get you; the Detapa council wants to speak to you.’

He raised a brow. ‘Gimmie a sec to tell the boss where I’m goin’.’ He disappeared into the back for only a moment or two, leaving Kira wondering. She hadn’t been in Quark’s last night, but she’d heard by now all about the kiss. Garak and Speziale were paired off, and Kira was having a hard time not judging it. Who would want to be with a Cardassian?

He was quiet as she led him to the bridge, to Sisko’s office; but it wasn’t a subdued quiet, given what he was wearing—a very bright pink and teal top with snug trousers that were a glittering pink, and the hair was a froth of sea-blue curls. He turned heads, and Kira couldn’t understand why you would _want_ that. Why dress like this, with hair that was a strange colour, and all the spangly things catching the light and flashing, and making your lips and eyes look so big? Kira supposed it was a human thing.

‘So,’ Kira said, somewhat awkwardly. ‘I, uh, heard what you did, during the invasion.’

‘Yeah? What about it?’

‘You wouldn’t happen to be interested in a security position, would you?’

A shriek of a laugh that she’d gotten used to hearing in the replimat around dinner time, a gentle touch to her arm. _‘Honey_ , can you imagine me in that uniform? I’d look _terrible_.’

Kira had a feeling it wasn’t as shallow as the uniform; but she remembered the time before she’d been First Officer, and saw a lot of herself in Speziale. If only she could figure out _what_ occupation he’d been in, to make him like that. Humans had never acted like him, before.

‘Ya trying to figure it out, aren’tcha?’ Speziale said.

‘Figure what out?’ Kira said, on reflex. Speziale snorted.

‘Things ain’t as happy as Starfleet says they are, on Terra. Ain’t neva been,’ Speziale said, just before they got to the bridge. Speziale closed up, after that; but he didn’t frown—instead, he flashed a thousand-watt smile at everyone.

‘Ready to meet the Council?’ Sisko asked.

‘I am _now,’_ he answered, his _entire body_ making that simple statement suggest _exactly_ what had changed—and it wasn’t the wig.

Dax stifled a giggle, before schooling her face and putting the Detapa Council through. They hadn’t even _seen_ Speziale yet, nor had he ever seen them.

‘Hiya, dolls!’ Speziale said, and Sisko, unseen, put hands up to his temples. Speziale went on. ‘I’m told ya wanna talk about somethin’ I did recently, and I wanted to know if you’d been told it wasn’t just me and Gul Dukat, yanno. My employer (also a Cardassian, may I add) was the one who told me ta grab a weapon and follow him, so if ya wanna thank me, ya betta thank him, too.’ He folded his arms.

This seemed to take a while to translate. Sisko wasn’t surprised, and was ready to help if necessary—there was a reason Starfleet officers were required to take diction courses. It made the UT’s work easier.

‘We were not so informed,’ said the elderly chantelle on screen, who had given her name as Teraht. She had the look of a woman who might have buried six husbands, _and_ as though she was not to be argued with—for _any_ reason.

‘Unsurprising,’ said another council member, Siloc, a drake wearing a rather complex brooch in the shape of an insect. ‘Dukat rarely credits anybody but himself.’

‘We will extend our thanks, of course, to your employer,’ Teraht began.

‘Now,’ said Speziale, ‘or I won’t take mine.’

‘Stubborn little mUra’tassi,’ hissed a bulky drake who had been frowning ever since Speziale had shown on their screen. ‘Go back to your chantelle, then.’

‘Why don’t you come up here and say that to my face, so I can claw out those pretty eyes?’ Speziale said, too sweetly, batting his eyelashes. Sisko was deeply regretting agreeing to the Council’s request to thank Speziale directly; but councilwoman Teraht actually _chuckled_.

‘I like your style, young man!’

‘Councilwoman!’

‘Oh, shut up, Disar, this is why you’re never invited to my parties,’ she said dismissively.

Speziale tongue-popped, because his only addition to that was an exclamation point. as they all started paying _very_ close attention, Speziale realised he’d never tongue-popped around Garak, and so had no idea what it _meant,_ in Kardasi. Oops.

‘What?’ Speziale said, playing it off like he usually did—being more aggressively casual to hide his nerves.

‘Do that again,’ Teraht asked, though it was more of a demand.

Speziale obliged her.

‘Ha!’ she said, ‘are you human?’

‘Yes ma’am,’ Speziale said, not minding the question—he was almost in drag, and his drag was very much on the ‘inhuman monstergirl’ side of the spectrum.

‘I’ve never seen a human drake before. Your males are usually so dull… well! Fetch the one you work for, then, we can wait a few minutes more, I daresay.’

‘Dare, dare,’ Speziale said, flashing his eyes the only way a human could. It worked very well with Garak. The transmission was put on hold, and Speziale gave a loud laugh that, by now, most everyone had heard before.

‘Well isn’t she a fuckin _delight_ ,’ Speziale said, leaning on the side of a console. ‘I _like_.’ He glanced at Sisko. ‘You want I should get Garak, or…?’ he let it dangle, arms folded.

-

‘He’s _delightful_ ,’ Teraht said, ‘what do you think, Medark?’

‘He was certainly _pretty_ ,’ Medark said, exhaling the vapourous smoke from her jilassa stick. She hated not being able to light one with real fire, but there was no smoking allowed in public places, anymore. It was one of the only things about the old regime she missed. She let her tail lash once, arching her neck just slightly, crest fluffing. ‘Groomed to see us, do you think?’

‘Or simply clever enough to know how to influence using one’s—’

‘That’s enough, Disar,’ Pa’Dar had been his usual thoughtful self, listening carefully but not talking much. ‘It was pleasant to look at the human Lorenzo Speziale; he has adorned himself perhaps for some festival we interrupted, perhaps for some personal reason. It does not concern us, all we are concerned with is his conduct. I see his loyalty to the only Cardassian aboard as being quite promising. Certainly, he is one of the only humans I have met who has been so friendly.’

‘He spoke using informal language, is that _friendly_?’ Disar snapped.

‘For humans, yes,’ Pa’Dar said, in a tone that made clear this was something he knew better than the rest of them—which was true. ‘A lack of formality is considered a gesture of trust. Humans bond outside their family units very easily. This isn’t the first human Garak has bonded with.’

‘But it may be a closer bond than the other one you mentioned,’ Teraht said, always sharply observant. ‘And Starfleet little wants him to interact with us. I want to know why.’

‘I move we find more about him,’ Siloc said, ‘Bring him here, to Cardassia.’

‘Preposterous,’ Medark shot across the table good-naturedly. ‘He’d cause a riot, dressed like that.’

‘He can dress differently,’ Siloc pointed out.

‘On what pretense do you suggest, Siloc?’ Teraht asked.

‘We must place him somewhere observable,’ Siloc began.

‘So, one of our households,’ Teraht said. ‘Very well. Doing what?’

‘I will take him,’ Pa’Dar said, ‘I have interacted with humans before, and Garak did me a great favour, helping me get my son back. I think I would rather pay that debt back _—before_ he calls it in.’

Everyone knew Pa’Dar’s real motive—his son had adapted badly to being in Cardassia again, was still struggling with the way the Bajorans had raised him to hate his own people. A human who _liked_ Cardassia might help, somehow. Humans were good with interspecies cooperation—adaptation was one of the things humans were best at. 

‘Doing what?’ Teraht asked again, her crest raising just slightly in emphasis.

‘Perhaps we should ask _him_ that,’ Pa’Dar said.

‘Very well, I trust your experience, Pa’Dar. And when he comes, you will, of course, find it necessary to report any changes he brings to your household by his presence, any culture he might share that you find… relevant.’

Pa’Dar understood how the Detapa Council worked. It was a council, but Teraht was the leader of the new Cardassia; and that was as it should be, in Pa’Dar’s mind. A chantelle’s analytical mind and cool judgement would do much better than the military leadership of before. He bowed his head. ‘Of course, Council member Teraht.’

‘What of Garak?’ Pa’Dar dared.

‘He remains where he is,’ Medark said. ‘Under no circumstances is he to leave Terok Nor at this time. Things are too sensitive here.’

Pa’Dar suspected it was more about how Medark was adamantly _ex_ -Obsidian Order, as was Garak. The Order didn’t exist anymore, of course.

-

‘You did _what_?’ Garak was aghast.

‘I told ‘em if they’re thankin’ me with a big speech that they better inflict it on you too—since you were there with me.’

Garak was stunned, but put on his usual mask of affable neutrality by the time the Detapa Council was back on the screen. He was glad he’d picked a rather conservative outfit, today, though he could not easily remove the blue on his chufa. It was far brighter and more glittering than the usual pigment, as it was something Speziale had gifted to him from his personal collection of cosmetics. _He_ used it on his eyelids.

‘Our gratitude to both of you for protecting us from the Klingons, gentlemen,’ Teraht said. ‘All of Cardassia is grateful to have such determined people on our side. In fact, it is far and above what I have ever heard of humans doing, before.’

‘Ain’t Starfleet, honey. Ain’t neva been,’ Speziale said. ‘How’d’ya like humans outside’a Starfleet?’

‘You’re _intriguing_ ,’ Medark said, leaning forward.

‘So much so, in fact, that we would like to formally request you perhaps stay on Cardassia for a little while, so that we may show you a little hospitality, such as it is,' Teraht said, her every word and posture formal and welcoming; a perfect matriarch, Garak thought.

Garak didn’t have time to warn Speziale what this might mean, how layered the request was, all the little factors; yet, thinking of all he knew about Speziale (which was quite a bit), he realised Speziale was not Bashir—he was, as he said, never a part of Starfleet. He was canny. And, his eyes narrowed slightly, Speziale was looking at the Detapa council with a thoughtful expression.

‘Doin’ what?’ he asked.

‘What is it that you do, Speziale?’ Teraht countered, and was given the full force of that huge smile.

‘I design and make clothing, I do makeup, and I sometimes perform in a traditional Terran form of theatre,’ Speziale said.

‘Ah, splendid. A cultural exchange, then.’

‘Council member,’ Sisko broke in, trying to remain calm as something gathered momentum. ‘Speziale is not of Starfleet, he’s not trained—’

‘I am aware of everything you are about to argue, Captain Sisko, and I _do_ wish you wouldn’t bother saying it. We want a human _outside_ of Starfleet, we are decided on this point rather firmly. And we have chosen Speziale; his actions have proven he will be no danger to the Cardassian people in this vulnerable time, and _you_ have been given a rare opportunity to allow him to represent your species.’

‘Yeah, you gotta problem with me representin’ our species?’ Speziale said, too aggressively. Garak liked the trap this laid, and the poetry in echoing Teraht’s phrasing would not go un-appreciated by _her_.

‘You are volatile, untrained, and prone to brawling,’ Sisko said, as though it was supposed to hurt. He was disappointed. Speziale just raised a carefully-shaped brow, which glinted with the movement, owing to the faceted rhinestones he’d glued to it.

‘He’s a _drake_ , of course he’s volatile and prone to brawling,’ Teraht said, and was pleased at the click that followed this.

Garak was surprised at the click of the tongue; it was brazen display-clicking, and he almost gave Speziale a look of censure, before realising _humans_ used the noise for something else. It was a rare homophone, and Garak immediately changed tracks, remembering what it had followed and wondering what sort of non-verbal comment it made. Speziale had so many, and could make an entire point with expressions and gesticulating.

‘Tell me, what is the meaning of those?’ Teraht asked.

‘That would be telling, ma’am,’ Speziale said with a lopsided smirk. Always thinking of their little game—good, Garak thought, it would help him on Cardassia.

‘How are you with children?’ Pa’Dar knew the instant he said it, Garak and Sisko would both realise what was to happen.

‘I got _so_ many little cousins and about three younger siblings by blood, more by adoption.’ Speziale’s tone changed completely. ‘Children are very important to the human culture I belong to.’

‘I get the feeling you’re implying humans have more than one?’ Siloc was intrigued. 

‘We do,’ Speziale said, without giving away how many. ‘In mine, family isn’t just blood, it’s the whole…’ he gestured grandly. ‘Community, ya know. Everybody.’

‘How Cardassian,’ Teraht said, not without irony. ‘Council member Pa’Dar has offered his household for your stay here.’

‘How long?’

‘Perhaps a month?’

Bargaining was probably not a good idea, but Speziale wasn’t sure if that was okay. He still needed the job, it wasn’t like Federation credits worked out here. ‘How will I support myself?’

‘You’ll be a guest in my home,’ Pa’Dar said, surprised at the question. Were humans so inhospitable? ‘Anything you need, within reason, will be provided for.’

‘Garak, can you spare me that long, when I just got here?’ Speziale asked him, glancing aside at Garak, through all those lashes.

‘For a diplomatic cultural exchange to Cardassia? Of course,’ Garak wasn’t just posturing for the council, he meant it. And he had a feeling that Speziale was the best human for the job. ‘We can, of course, communicate during this visit?’ he lilted it up as a question—something he’d learned was common in Speziale’s dialect of Terran as well. It would serve him well on Cardassia.

‘I see no reason why not, do you, Medark?’ Teraht asked, with a wry curl in her tail—Garak didn’t need to see it to know it was there, there was a slight movement in her neck-ridges that indicated it well enough.

‘I have no idea why you need the input of the Minister for the Promotion of the Arts, i’ruxt; but, as a fellow council member, I see no reason why not.’

‘And you, Siloc? It was your idea.’

‘I think it would help Cardassia to try a little less restriction for everyone’s communications, you know me,’ Siloc said, sipping a small glass of something that had been in front of him.

‘Harrumph,’ said Disar, which was _also_ about as much as Teraht would consider his feelings on the matter.

Pa’Dar canted his head in a particular way, fluffing his crest just so.

Garak felt a bone-deep pleasure, seeing that little gesture. He had discarded it long ago, and adopted the shrugging so common among people on Terok Nor, and it hurt, just a little, that he’d had to gradually discard all the little bits of body language that non-Cardassians just didn’t pick up on. Teaching Speziale had given him a new appreciation for human adaptability—and a new frustration with how the other humans just seemed to _choose_ not to learn.

Speziale didn’t have a tail, so he gestured and made up colourful and effortless phrases to signal it; he didn’t have a crest, so he fluffed his hair with his hands; he learned the head postures, he could arch his neck; and he widened his eyes to flash them, explaining that humans flashed their eyes. Garak had learnt the snaps, the hand-gestures, the head-postures; and he’d had to adapt several of them in turn to his own difference in anatomy.

‘We shall have to speak to Starfleet, I suppose, as you are a civilian in the Federation,’ Teraht sounded bored, and didn’t bother hiding it. She was too old to care about hiding such things. ‘We shall send a transport for you in the morning.’

‘Thank you, i’ruxt,’ Speziale said, with a little bow that Garak had taught him. ‘Mention to Starfleet that I’m from New York City. See ya soon, dolls!’ He blew a kiss, and Dax ended the transmission.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are precious few examples of how plurals work, in Kardasi, so I extrapolated as best I could, apologies to Tinsnip and Vyc for taking liberties.
> 
> Btw, all of the songs quoted so far have been Todrick Hall songs. 
> 
> If you can put together why Oz is being recommended reading then fair play to you; I've tucked the clues in there already.

Starfleet was unhappy, to say the least, but from what Sisko could ascertain from their transmissions to him, the Detapa Council was firmly dug in on wanting a human that _wasn’t_ connected to Starfleet, wanting _Speziale_ , in fact, for more than just that—for his service to Cardassia in defending them from the Klingons. Reports had filtered in that were more detailed than Dukat’s, and Sisko knew exactly who had made them. Speziale was, apparently, enjoying a cultural phenomenon known as the Kirk Effect—when someone from one species inadvertently perfectly fit into a different species’ ideal gender role. For Cardassians, that was, apparently, a snarly, sparkly drag queen.

It made Sisko wonder about the supposedly-male Cardassians he’d met. _Were_ they male, or was it a case of the UT’s chronic pronoun trouble?

He walked into the replimat at dinner to see the brightly-coloured luggage, a lot of it, and Speziale and Garak were having a lively conversation over their dinner, Speziale dressed up in his usual bright pinks and purples, with gold jewellery and a full face of makeup.

Dax waved him over, and he joined her in the queue. ‘It’s very exciting, Cardassia inviting a non-Cardassian to come stay for a month. And I just found out how special that month is.’

‘For Cardassia? I don’t recall any Cardassian festivals for June.’

‘Not for Cardassia, for Terra! June is Queer Pride Month, Speziale was just telling me about it.’

‘You mean he talks to you?’

She shrugged a shoulder. ‘I have a feeling he just doesn’t like humans, and I _know_ he doesn’t like straight people.’

‘Those delineations are old-fashioned and divisive.’

‘And still incredibly relevant,’ Dax said, in that tone she got when she was reminding you how old she was. ‘Speziale heard me talking about my previous lives and we got to talking about gender; I had no idea humans had more than two, and that itself seems like a pretty big problem. That information should be freely available, shouldn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Sisko said, ‘but it’s not really Starfleet’s concern, cultural exchange is through the Federation.’

‘Which doesn’t exist, in New York City. They never joined the Federation,’ Dax said, getting her order and waiting for Sisko to get his.

‘As Speziale reminds us at every turn,’ Sisko said, watching him pull the Bolian smoothie merchant into their conversation, loudly enthusing about Little Shop Of Horrors to both of them. There were more than a few humans listening; but they knew better than to talk to Speziale, by now. He was standoffish, loud—but he was fitting in, here. Sisko noted that anyone who wasn’t human was greeted warmly, with that bright smile reaching his eyes.

‘He just doesn’t like authority, Benjamin. Sound familiar?’ Dax was curling her lips in a way that was consistent through all her incarnations.

Speziale looked their way, and waved cheerfully at Dax, who waved back, balancing her tray in one hand.

‘So, he’s a little more forgiving of the “suit” if you’re not human?’ Sisko asked, as they settled at one of the tables.

‘And depending on your job. He likes science, but not medical. Engineers, but not command, and security are all… well, you know.’

‘It’s an old word for police,’ Sisko said. ‘I looked it up.’

‘So did I. It’s hundreds of years old; so is most of his slang.’

‘New York is very cut-off from a lot of present day things,’ Sisko said. ‘They refused to give up currency, and don’t react well to outsiders telling them how to be. Starfleet is concerned Speziale is going to give a poor impression.’

‘Regardless of the fact that he’s already given a _good_ impression.’

‘But not the one they want.’

‘Well, it’s lucky Speziale is supposed to please the _Cardassians_ , then.’

Sisko paused for thought, finally smiled. ‘I see your point.’

‘Good. Now, eat.’

Sisko raised a brow at her. She wagged _her_ brows in response, and he laughed.

‘I think it’ll go just fine,’ Dax said, already halfway done with her meal. ‘I just feel sorry for Garak. He finally found somebody who wants to be around him, and now he’s leaving.’

‘He’s good friends with Bashir, isn’t he? They eat lunch together.’

‘It’s not the same as a _boyfriend_.’

‘Are they?’ Sisko was surprised, and yet, not at all surprised. He didn’t usually follow the romantic exploits of people on the station—as much as one could opt-out of that sort of thing. DS9 was, in many ways, a small town. The regulars and residents were a roiling pot of gossip. ‘I’d heard something about a kiss in Quark’s.’

‘That’s incredibly significant,’ Dax said, ‘Cardassians are _not_ ones for public displays of affection like that unless things are _serious_.’

‘Surely they haven’t known each other long enough? I know Cardassians more into the long, slow, subtle building of a relationship.’

‘Garak was doing the long, slow, subtle thing before Speziale got here. According to Speziale, they’ve known each other for a long time over long-distance communications. What we’re seeing is the fruit of has been building—oh, wow. Speaking of,’ Dax said, smiling and subtly watching as Speziale and Garak were coordinating the bags, along with the Bolian.

Speziale had a lot of luggage, though Sisko knew from reading Odo’s reports that most of the bags were wigs, or shoes, or costume pieces. They left the replimat still talking and laughing, and Speziale leaned over to put a kiss on Garak’s cheek. It was a casual thing, but it wasn’t at all something a Cardassian would allow—except from a very _serious_ pursuit.

-

Lorenzo’s makeup was subtler today, Garak having helped him decide just how much blue would be considered pretty without being too brazen. Lorenzo refused to put a dot in the middle of his forehead, explaining there was a culture of humans that did that, and it wouldn’t be right to do it without being of that culture, if you were human. Instead, he’d used a deep blue he called ‘navy’ to line his eyes and paint his lashes, shaded his eyelids with more of a blue-green, and had again done scales on his face—this time in more of that same blue-green, as well as a bit of violet, and his lips were violet-pink, not blue. Garak had advised he cover his neck and shoulders, so Lorenzo was in a black bodysuit that covered his neck and shoulders but bared his arms and legs, and over it he wore a shining and scaled pair of leggings that were, of course, holographic. Garak thought he was beautiful, but not _too_ tempting. Practically conservative, for Lorenzo. Gold bangles, rings, hoop earrings, and his nails were still long and blue-tipped. He wore his favourite pair of pink and glittering heels, ‘for confidence’.

‘I’m gonna miss you, sweetheart,’ Lorenzo’s voice was soft, as they stood off to one side, waiting for the shuttle to finish readying for passengers.

‘You’ve never called me that before,’ Garak remarked, ‘not that I’m complaining.’

‘Of course not,’ Lorenzo said on a breath of a laugh, leaning in to kiss him again. ‘Enjoy the fairy tales and Oz while I’m gone.’

‘I shall endeavour to, though I make no guarantees.’

Lorenzo laughed, and then his breath caught on the knot in his chest, his eyes pricking with tears. He looked up, blinking rapidly to try and keep the tears from falling and ruining his makeup. ‘It’s only a month, why does it _hurt_ so much…’ he muttered, mostly to himself, and hugged Garak. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I gotta, I need—fuck,’ he said, holding tight to Garak. ‘I love you, sweetheart.’

Garak carefully held him, uncomfortable with so much touching in public; but willing to brave the fear for Lorenzo’s sake. It wasn’t unpleasant, it was mostly the fear of being seen, being punished, having Lorenzo taken from him—

Tain was dead, Garak thought firmly, inhaling past his so’c and smell-tasting Lorenzo and his perfume, which had grown to be comfortingly familiar. Lorenzo was safe, Medark would be keeping an eye on him—and Garak knew Medark was a lot more sensible than Tain would have been. There was no reason to harm Lorenzo, especially after what he and Garak had done.

‘You can call me every night,’ Garak said.

‘Yeah,’ Lorenzo said, letting go, smiling. ‘Thanks for letting me hold you, I know it’s more of a human thing….’

‘We must meet one another halfway,’ Garak said. ‘It is important to show pride in one’s love, isn’t it?’

‘You remembered!’ Lorenzo said, smiling a watery smile. He got a small paper-cloth from his handbag and dabbed carefully at his eyes. The Cardassian pilot chose that moment to come out of the airlock. He was a no-nonsense sort, obviously more of a civilian pilot than a military one.

‘Mx Speziale?’

‘That’s me,’ Lorenzo said, his voice almost normal. The pilot regarded all of the luggage for a few moments, clearly calculating where to put it all, before looking back at Lorenzo.

‘Follow me, I will show you where to put your luggage.’

‘Thanks, doll.’ Speziale flashed that smile, the one that lit up the immediate area like a star. Garak admired how he turned his charismatic power on and off at will.

It was a few minutes, but then, Garak knew he’d correctly predicted human behaviour when Lorenzo gave one last little touch to Garak’s head, those delicious nails brushing his crest just slightly, and one last smile, before Lorenzo was gone, not to return for a month.

Garak understood Lorenzo’s pained murmur more than he could say to Lorenzo, and he marvelled at how he managed all these years by himself, surrounded by people who despised his very race. It was only a month, but it felt like a death sentence. Garak’s mobile padd blipped, and he saw a message from Lorenzo already on the screen.

_Though the music dies; the rhythm of our heartbeats lasts forever._

He never sent anything direct over the short message service, and Garak was grateful for that. This happened to be the lyric to a love song Lorenzo was particularly fond of, and Garak smiled at the layered meaning—so much more than simply ‘I love you’, it was layered with multiple meanings, tones, and allusions. Garak replied back.

_My pink starburst._

Lorenzo’s reply was only a little heart, with lines indicating it was shivering or beating fast—humans used tiny hieroglyphs in their text messages, faces and objects offering the subtlety of tone and expression usually lost with text. Very clever of them, in Garak’s opinion—but it seemed to be another human thing that _Lorenzo_ had been the one to tell him about, the other humans on Terok nor using a much more sterile form of communication that Garak had taken as simply being a result of humans not appreciating subtlety. Lorenzo had proven all that wrong, showing him there were entire _concepts_ that only worked in text medium, flirtations and even highly emotive replies that contained no words at all. Garak had liked it immediately, and once again circled back to wondering just _how_ sterilised Starfleet made humanity. If he hadn’t _known_ that Lorenzo was human, it would be so easy to think of him as being another species entirely.

-

Morad and Salenn, his co-pilot, were rather surprised that the human simply settled down in his seat, tucked one leg under himself, the other knee wedged up on the ridge behind Salenn’s seat, got out his mobile padd, put a pair of tiny speakers in his ears, and did not move his gaze from the padd screen for the entire flight. They’d been told he was talkative, what was this? But he was, indeed, the human he said he was. Well, Morad was perfectly happy to _not_ have a talkative guest—he wasn’t used to his cargo being sapient. He _preferred_ his cargo not being sapient, he _liked_ being a freight pilot—

As they made planetfall, Salenn clambered around to kneel backwards on his seat, leaning over the back and waving to get the human’s attention. Said human removed one of the little speakers.

‘We here?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Salenn said, his crest raising all the way in his excitement. Why had Morad even allowed him, he was clearly a show-drake… ‘Welcome to Cardassia Prime!’

‘Salenn, get down!’ Morad hissed, and Salenn lowered his cheerfully-arced tail, crest flattening as he sat properly in his seat again.

‘I couldn’t get his attention,’ he said sulkily. Morad rolled his eyes. Salenn had wanted to _flirt_ with him, more like; Morad had heard the soft courting-clicks all through the trip, disguised as Salenn tapping his claws idly. Salenn was only _here_ because he was part of Teraht’s household; it wasn’t as though Morad _needed_ a co-pilot, he had perfectly good _algorithms_ …. Morad started on unloading the many, many pieces of luggage, while Salenn did what he was good at, and socialised as they got out of the shuttle and docked. Transporters were few and far between on Cardassia Prime, at the moment.

‘I’m Salenn,’ Salenn was saying, as the human put the little ear-speakers in a small glittering case, tucking it in the small hand-bag he was carrying.

‘Say it a little slower, doll?’ Speziale said.

‘Salenn.’

‘Salenn,’ he repeated—pronouncing it _perfectly_ on the first try! Humans didn’t _do_ that! From the toothy smile—something that meant happiness, not threat, in humans—Speziale was pleased, but not surprised at their shock.

‘I’ve been practisin’,’ he said. ‘Hopin’ I can practise not using the Universal Translator while I stay here.’

It was night in the capital where they had landed, but this didn’t seem to bother Speziale at all; he wasn’t acting afraid, or turning on any lights. It was the first test, Salenn knew; he was privy to such details. The human even seemed to track the luggage—though it was a _very_ bright shade of pink, and had reflective qualities that meant it caught the small amount of available moonlight and shimmered.

‘Ah, Speziale,’ said Teraht, as she approached them.

Morad was shocked she’d come herself—but he wasn’t the type to say much, and just bowed shortly to her, before returning to the diagnostics padd in his hands.

Flanking her were two of her larger drakes, Kejul and Katel, both from the same egg, who tended to cultivate the unease everyone already felt around them by finishing each other’s sentences constantly.

If their looming shadows intimidated Speziale, he wasn’t showing it. ‘I’ruxt, i’ces… i’cen? Is that right?’ he asked. ‘Or—wait, wait, I remember, it’s i’c’en, right?’

‘Yes,’ Teraht said simply. ‘In their case, i’d’en.’

‘I didn’t realise Herself was gonna come greet me,’ Speziale said, taking hold of his smaller suitcase. ‘Do, uh, do they do heavy lifting?’

‘Sometimes,’ they chorused. Speziale grinned.

‘Oh, _excellent._ You do the freaky twin thing, just like my cousins.’

‘You have cousins that are egg-mates?’ Kejul asked, startled.

‘Sure,’ Speziale said. ‘So, uh, ya gonna carry those or what? C’man, ain’t got all day.’

Teraht gave both boys a very amused look, as they started to negotiate with tail posture and crest-fluffing alone which bags would be carried by whom.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Questions? Bonus Features? I have a [discord!](http://discord.gg/76nCqDh)


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